These were occasions.
A dispute about my body
hung in the public space
like an errand. All of the sadness.
Down to residual guilt.
The sheer force shredding,
splintering, performing
perfect, finite drama.
It amused them. It amused
me, too. Laughing concisely,
succinctly. All of the sadness.
Bearer of barren beauty, peddler
of disguises. A chance encounter
at night with animals unlearning
howl. Maybe it is the way it is.
When I explode, I am both
material and immaterial.
Both promise and time elapsed
to surrender it. One day it’ll get simpler.
The pains more easily described.
In a way it’s just a story about love.

In 1957, a respected BBC news program
aired footage of Swiss peasants harvesting spaghetti
from trees. No, not the squash– the noodle.
The BBC phone lines were burdened with calls,
viewers from all over wanted to know how
to get hands on their own spaghetti tree.
A successful April Fool’s joke.
A nation laughed at its gullibility.

Not too many years ago, a coworker’s whole office
was foiled. As in everything from his desk,
computer, pictures on the wall, his globe,
down to individual pens were wrapped
in aluminum foil like Sunday’s leftovers.
Cleanup was tedious
but he laughed the whole time.
This is April Fool’s, after all.

A good friend once–and only once–
printed up very believable medical lab reports.
He led his girlfriend to believe he was dying of cancer.
When she burst into tears, he burst into laughter.
She didn’t stay mad for long,
can now laugh at such a convincing prank.
It’s April Fool’s, after all.

I told you I still love you.
You laughed and I followed your lead.
My love is such a funny punchline
but this is not the joke we wish it was.
The most random of memories of you
on the most random of days can still make me cry.
I am still in love with you.
I am just a fool in April.
The only joke here.

So you can be a bird
and still love rain.

As the evening blues
Makes its presence known
With calling attention,
Undeniably you’re my therapy
And my favorite pain
I could always feel the magic
In your seductive smile ,
When the night takes flight
On dreams painted with love
With strokes of desire
Lust ,love regardless
As the heat rising
Adrenaline in my veins
I Forever and more crave
For your soft sweet torture
Like a kiss from a Rose
Your sweet and sour kind of love
My desperate kind of love
That has me torn in pieces
Soft sarcastic kiss
Soft spoken lies
Soft magical moments
Soft sweet fragrance of love
Soft lips Stem with thorns
Makes my poetry bleed
Flowers and rain
Laughter and pain
I may fall, I may fly
Still, Forevermore Long for the touch of your sweet lips
Breathing against my flesh as we dance the evening blues
Into the promise of the morning, joy….
Lust , love regardless
You’re independently mine as I am yours ……...

Whoa!
We don’t need a safe word
but maybe some ground rules.
There will be no kissing.
Don’t make me aware of my shame
by looking me in the eyes.
Yes, it’s good to see you but…
I don’t care about your day or how you feel,
don’t even start—in fact, let’s not
even speak outside of the long moans and short slaps
of skin on skin that we interpret like Morse Code.
Just take of your clothes
or rather
pull down your pants just enough
for me to slip inside.
Getting comfortable is for lovers—
I don’t want to be misleading.

Stop.
Do not use my pillow.
I refuse to risk waking later
and finding your hair or smelling your scent.

This
isn’t about making beautiful memories,
isn’t about the foundation of something lasting,
isn’t even about the survival of our species.

It’s nothing personal.

This
is about the NOW,
is about giving in to our carnal vices,
is about having something other
than our own hands to bring us to

******. You don’t even have to fake it—
I’ll get mine, yours is not my priority.
However, even if I end up the utensil
to your ******, we will not spoon;
cuddling will just keep you here longer than necessary,
pillow talk violates the rules.

I’m sorry if you thought otherwise—this
is not making love.
The most beautiful thing about tonight
just may be watching you wipe what remains
of me off your lips.

And I apologize again.
Maybe you deserve better but
the sweetest thing I may do is walk you to the front door
or rather
I’ll distract the room mates just long enough
for you to sneak out,
to avoid introductions,
to save you from that awkward moment
when you remember that you
are not my girlfriend, merely

my ***** laundry

My voice
enters
the air
as I speak
to her,
delves
there
in purrs
of wind.

If I am
silent,
and she
is sleeping,
the air
stutters
a little
as it speaks
its own name.

In the
language
that sails
the lung,
it whispers
about her.

In the
night,
the air
grasps
at cigarette
smoke
with
fingers
small
as a
hush.

It lurches
toward
the branch
of moon.
My father's
grave
is hidden
in the air.

The air,
the air
hangs
between us,
lithe and
endless,
almost
invisible.

When she
pauses for
breath,
the air
offers itself
in sweet
bursts.

In mist
and fog,
it learns
to kiss.

When she
speaks,
the air
is filigree,
like the
small laces
of a tree
in bloom.

In the middle of the journey
I was stuck in the creek of the ladder
With a shadow of a doubt
A window ledge
A falling man on the mount
In danger
I had the specs and a major
The abstemiousness drew a couple of circles in rear
The car draws flames in the 70s
The precious simple daddy shake by the fire
Muscle cars blew across burnt charcoal
Close to burned edges of the ride
Society seems to have to joke a lot
Tell your ma and pa that we stand strong
There is a place in this life that holds me to the ground
Annoying as ever now stay in the now as you will need it every time
Every day
Touching upon the real stuff the real high
I was into the masterpiece
Of shaking hands with the devil all along

You feel alone
Alone is in your head
You can't get out of this state of mind
Of boredom
But, somehow solitude is bliss
For someone, somewhere
Where being lonely was an issue of prejudice
Later, I learnt
That to truly be alone, I had to wake up to myself
Haunted by the fear
That every day the rabbit hole gets deeper
I learn more about myself day by day
I'm a politically-inclined sycophant
Who talks about what matters with fanatics
Pleading for change
Joining hands with the enemy